A Moment's Peace
by Willofthewisp
Summary: Welcome to snippets of time in which the characters each have a moment to reflect, to take in changes, love, life itself, and experience a moment's peace.
1. Regina

"Why are you combing my hair? It's not Picture Day."

"No, but it's the first day of school. That's still very important, too."

Regina places the comb back on its spot on the bathroom vanity, next to the toothbrush holder with his Spider-Man toothbrush. It matches the red and blue towels she'd bought for his bathroom over the summer, and, his favorite part of the room, a shower curtain made to look like panels from a Spider-Man comic book. Spotless and full of energy—exactly how Henry looks on the first day of first grade.

"Ah!" she grunts, catching him before his hand sweeps up to muss his hair. "Let's go downstairs and wait for the bus."

"Will I see Mr. Badger even though he's not my teacher anymore?" he asks, a nervous hand encircling hers on the way down the stairs.

"I'm sure he'll be there. If he's not busy you can say hi." She had been right that he wouldn't need a jacket. The normally crisp air clung to warmer southern breezes making their way up the coast. Gesturing for him to turn and face her, she snaps a photo of him with his backpack readied and lunchbox in hand.

"Do I look older than I did in last year's picture?"

"Yes." She can't say more than that for fear of tearing up. Kindergarten had only required the adjustments any parent would have to make, that first step in learning to eventually let go, the conflict of independence vs. affection... She'd ordered and read three new child development books (Amazon should be called Amazing) and so felt she was adequately prepared for all of that. The adjustment she feared, however, was inevitable.

Henry was excited now, but he would come home confused. She could hear all the questions already, why his friends are all still in kindergarten, why they don't remember him. She didn't have answers, not truthful ones. She didn't even have deceitful ones, not yet. She'd contemplated playing dumb ("I don't know why the school chose to do that that way"), snooty ("Those children must not be ready to be big kids like you are"), just fully embracing the denial ("Oh, Henry, the kids in your class now were the kids you were in kindergarten with"). There was no perfect response. It would be the first imperfect thing about his little life.

"Mom?" Regina felt a tug on her sleeve.

Gulping, she smiled down at him. Forget all of that for right now, she told herself. It is his first day of first grade and he will never get another one of those. It is a big day.

"What is it, Henry?" She knelt down next to him, the front outline of the bus coming into view.

"I think we didn't get everything on my supply list," he stammers. "I'm pretty sure we had to get the 24-crayon pack, not the 16 pack."

"Listen, sweetie." Her hands grip his shoulders. For a moment, she closes her eyes and tries to summon magic, summon something that can keep him five and ignorant forever and still keep him real. There has to be a way to sometimes have the cake and eat it too. "You will love school. You're a smart, friendly kid and I will be home early to hear all about it. Okay?" Nodding, he gives her a hug. The questions swirl around in her mind again...why the boy in fifth grade who picked on him last year is still in fifth grade, why the kids who came to his birthday party last year don't remember him now...

It's just first day of school jitters, she convinces herself, letting him go and waving to him as he steps onto the bus. Enjoy his first day. Bask in his love.

"I love you!" she calls out.

"I love you, too!"

It will never be the same again.

* * *

**A/N: Welcome to a 10-chapter story in which the regulars each have a moment to reflect, to take in life, and experience a moment's peace. This was going to be much longer with perspectives from more of the characters, but I trimmed it down to the 9 cast members the show considers regulars along with one other who I felt should have been considered a regular for Season 2. Like the show, the moments are not necessarily in chronological order. Thank you, and I do not own OUAT.**


	2. Snow White

**A/N: Takes place between episodes 9 and 10 of Season 2.**

* * *

For Snow White to see steam rising from a frothing bathtub, to slip in and feel the exact moment when the water would engulf her leg, leaving her skin reddened from the sensation—that was magic. With a whispered giggle, she leaned her head back against the wall and soaked. Of course she'd bathed since she and Emma returned from the Enchanted Forest, yesterday, in fact. But everything had been such a whirlwind and now was a moment for her to be alone, not Snow or Mary Margaret, but just herself, soaked in memories.

That's how it all had to be processed, she'd decided. Let them flood over her so she could reach out and clutch whichever one she'd wanted to and examine it the way a jeweler might examine every facet of a diamond. There had simply been no time before.

"Mary Margaret?"

Blinking, she hunched over until the point of her chin hit the bubbles. She could hear Henry walking in and throwing his hulk of a backpack onto the table. Before she could answer him, the door clicked and the knob turned.

"Sorry!" he sputtered.

She couldn't be angry, not with his blushing face downcast. He stumbled over the threshold on his backward waltz out of the bathroom. Once the door slammed, she sighed and reached for her towel.

"How was school?" she asked the door.

"Well, I kind of had a question for you."

Snow patted some lotion over her arms and legs and smiled a self-indulgent smile at how smart she'd been to have brought her change of clothes into the bathroom, folded and waiting for her on the toilet seat.

"Ask away." Ask away, Henry, my grandchild, she thought.

"We have to make a family tree and...it's going to be a lot of branches."

Laughing, she opened the door and nodded. It hadn't been so long ago that Henry had been her student, that maybe he'd gone home and asked Regina for help on a project Mary Margaret Blanchard herself had assigned. She knew, not because she was an over-protective grandmother but because she'd spent the hours after school with him when he struggled with function tables no one at home had spared the time to help him understand, he'd been granted a second chance at a stable family. They all had.

"Well, let's get the poster board and the construction paper out."

* * *

"All right, and that's as far back as I know," Snow said, spreading her hands over the tree made of brown and green construction paper. It hurt to see King Leopold and Queen Eva, her father and mother, reduced to names, birth dates, and death dates, but there was still something so, so warm about their names and the names of their parents and grandparents arranged with her own, with Charming, with Emma, with Henry's names. "Our family."

"Thanks." Henry grinned at her. He felt it, too. He had to. Snow would never put much stock into things like bloodlines and social classes...she was married to a shepherd, after all, a better prince than the "best" of bloodlines could have produced, but there was something to lineage and heritage. Roots.

"You'll have to show your mom when she gets back," Snow said, patting his arm. His eyes still on the tree, Henry's face fell with a sigh. "What's wrong?"

"It's just...this is great. It really is. But, there's so much missing." They'd purposely concentrated only on Emma's line so as not to leave half the tree empty, but Snow had a feeling he still saw too much blank space. "My m...Emma, Mom, she told me a little bit about my dad, but he's dead, and, and I don't think I could ask her for more. It was hard for her to talk about him the first time." He ran his fingers over his name. "Who were any of them? What were they like? Am I like them? Were they good? Were they bad?"

"Henry," she heard herself saying, taking hold of his hand. "You know, the longer I've had to think about it, I'm not sure anyone is all good or all bad. Some people, maybe, but not many. Maybe one day you'll find out more about them."

Henry leaned his head down on her arm and gave her the half-hug most eleven-year-old boys tend to give, but still with affection. From the corner of her eye, Snow spied the bell he'd given her at her "charges dropped" party, the first thing he'd ever given her. It was simple, just a brass bell with a wooden handle and a red ribbon tied around it, but she loved it.

"And you know what?" she added. "No matter what, you have a long list of people who will love you."


	3. Hook

Home was a creaking, scratched-up ship that never thanked him for fighting the losing battle that was keeping the trim freshly painted. The sounds of the wind flapping the sails, the gentle splashes of flying fish nearby, chasing the _Jolly Roger, _the hearty laughter of the crew—Killian never felt as comfortable or confident as he did here. And now he was surrounded by people who have never sailed in their lives. If he'd wanted such an arrangement, he'd have become a tutor.

Nevertheless, the murmurs and shouts filled the ship, something he'd missed. Even the Crocodile aboard gave him a bemused sort of satisfaction rather than fury. Five capable and desperate people, three of whom possessed magic somehow cast a pall over the title of captain, but that they lacked the abilities he had made the situation more tolerable.

When night falls, and he takes his shift at the helm, there comes a sound he would not miss. The sound of Swan coming up to the deck every night, propping herself up by the bow without looking at him, and crying her bloody eyes out.

Killian decided not to ever bring it up. She knows he's there and doesn't care. Perhaps there is some trust in there, that she can cry with him around but not in front of the others, not even her own parents. After all, they understand each other, as she'd said herself. The first night, she'd caught him off guard and he almost spoke to her...until he saw her start for the bow. He held his breath for one moment, calculating if reaching her before she flung herself into the ocean was even possible, but he reminded himself he knew better. It was her boy that was the reason she was there. Someone like Emma Swan, someone like him, wouldn't kill herself as long as she had a reason to fight.

He would know. He'd started for the bow once upon a time, too.

Tonight Swan cries a little softer, her arms folded and over her knees, cradling her head, looking abandoned. Well she had been at one time, as had they all. Not Henry. Henry would not be abandoned.

As if hearing his thought, Swan wipes her eyes and heads for below decks, pausing this one night to glance over at him. Flashing her a grin, he opens his stance a little, silently inviting her over because, well, he didn't know a lady yet to not find provocative ideas about him an enjoyable distraction. Except her, so he prepares for that exasperated expression he knows well enough.

But tonight she gives him a sad, thoughtful smile, like the one she'd given him at the hospital. One of understanding, a silent thanks for not mentioning her bursts of weeping.

* * *

**A/N: I do not own OUAT. Please read and review.**


	4. Cora

**A/N: I feel that Cora was such an important character that Barbara Hershey should have been considered a regular. For most of Season 2, if she wasn't in an episode, she was still on everyone's mind. She affected so much that I just think she has a purpose here. Not that it was fun to get into her head...**

* * *

Nicknames for her swirled all about court, "Cora the Heartless" strikingly the most accurate. She'd heard "Queen of Hearts" once or twice in that sarcastic tone she found most unbecoming. One would assume royal blood would be more refined than that, she thought. No one called her any of these names to her face as it would be the last mistake they would ever make, but her spies, those with legs and those with wings, told her all she needed to know.

If her heart beat within her chest, the words would have stung. Now, in the wee hours of the morning, hoarse crying was all she would respond to, Regina's crying.

A wet nurse had been provided as was the custom, but Cora insisted on tending to her child herself. The faces of Henry and the servants would soften and they would murmur about being overprotective and devoted. Her robes brushed the marble floor of the nursery where Regina lay in her crib, red-faced and hands in balled-up fists.

"Powerful little cry," Cora whispered, reaching down to pick her up. A stately rocking chair imported from a foreign village was her favorite place to nurse. Regina's eyes, two gigantic pools of dark chocolate, gazed up at her before they closed and savored their meal.

Strong and already beautiful, Regina would have the world at her fingertips. Henry already lived and breathed for her, but then Cora always imagined Henry could be devoted to a rock if he felt he should be.

"Being heartless doesn't deter a great mother," she whispered down to her baby, who was nestling into her sleeve. "I am giving you the best of everything, no matter the cost. And you'll thank me one day, Regina. You'll be a queen, and the world will kneel before you." It was the sweetest lullaby Cora could conceive, that decadent world always just out of reach where riches could buy away the chaotic, unpredictable things of life—change, station, especially love. It had been impossible for Cora herself to fall into that world, but Regina had the chance, had everything those already there treasured so. Beauty. Money. Blood. It baffled her at how often she lied awake making plans for her daughter, how early on she was thinking of the best ways to make her educated and accomplished. That had to be love, a controlled love, because the other kind crept under your skin when you least expected it and...changed you... This was the way that was best, best for everyone.


	5. Charming

**A/N: Storybrooke plot takes place between 2x9 and 2x10. This one is based off of Jennifer Morrison's answer to who she would play on the show other than her own character.**

* * *

_On his back, stark white shirt starting to sport a few smudges, Charming grinned. This was his element—doing, building. He'd always imagined working on his baby's crib in a nursery...just a much smaller nursery...and without half a dozen servants offering to do it for him, lest the prince strain himself. _

_ He chuckled. A prince. Shaking his head, he let out a whistle and tightened the crib's leg._

_ "How's it coming?" Snow asked. From the corner of his eye, he caught her bulge first. She'd finally started to show even with her gowns on. Ebony hair flowing down her shoulders, a clear blue robe...it was about time she was able to relax. A few sparrows perched at the window ledge chirped when she passed by._

_ "Not too bad," he grunted, scooting over and standing up. "It's level. It's tight." He jostled the crib for a second to test it. The little crystalline mobile Snow had insisted on jingled only a little. Four more months and soon all these immaculate blankets and stuffed animals would boast all kinds of stains. The toys arranged on the shelves and the thin, brightly illustrated books would be scattered all over the floor. The fresh flowers near the chair would fail to mask the odors of soiled diapers and regurgitated mother's milk and he absolutely could not wait._

* * *

Charming found the sheriff's office grew on him. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been a suspect here, wringing his hands worrying about Kathryn. He'd lost Mary Margaret here. On the other hand, everything had changed now and this was where Emma worked. She flipped on the lights and tossed her coat over her chair. She had moved to the other side of the desk, forming a barrier between them, to which he didn't say anything. Unlike Snow, he understood restraint and he refused to drive Emma away. After all, it really hadn't been all that long ago that he'd been nothing more than the schmuck who broke her best friend's heart.

She flipped through files for their turnover, reviewing everything he'd done in her place these last several weeks while his eyes darted from her to the unspecified right side of the room. He ought to say something. You know, flannel is so much more comfortable than leather, he thought. Yeah, that doesn't sound idiotic...

"Everything looks great," she said. He nodded. "Place is even neater than I used to keep it."

"Well, I leave everything in your capable hands," he said.

"Don't forget that." She pointed to the gun still in his holster.

"Oh, right." He unfastened the holster and imagined being in the castle, sheathing a sword and putting on riding gloves, with a little girl sitting on her parents' bed, so high up her feet didn't touch the floor.

"Did you ever actually use it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Uh, well, I was trying to have more of an Andy Griffith thing going on," Charming chuckled, handing the holster over to her. "I still prefer a sword."

"It didn't have much effect in the Enchanted Forest," she laughed. "Still prefer it to swords and bows and arrows, though."

Connecting with Prince Charming. Did it sound as ridiculous to her as it did to him? He'd taken a look at Henry's book. It really wasn't that much better than the more generic stories out there of him out slaying monsters and rescuing damsels...wait, her face was lighting up.

"Can I tell you something? Something I've never told Mary Margaret?" He didn't answer, but angled his head and looked right into her eyes. "When I was a kid, I thought a lot of the princesses in the stories were kind of boring. I wanted to be Prince Charming." A warm exhale of a laugh escaped him, followed by a smile. "Horseback riding and killing dragons and fighting in battles—that was always the stuff I liked."

"Mar...your mother didn't teach you how to shoot an arrow?"

Emma shook her head.

"I guess then, in that case, we could teach each other how to shoot."

Now would be a good time to hug, he thought, but held back. Even at the start, right when the curse was broken and the purple fog lifted and she'd been so angry, he'd felt her snuggle just a little in his and Snow's arms, felt her press back for just a second.

But Emma was a grown woman...his heart could barely accept it...and she was a grown woman who could have used a father during parts of her life she locked away and longed to forget.

"You know, this town could really use a deputy," she said.

Then again, he could be here for her now.


	6. Emma

**A/N: Takes place between 1x12 and 1x13**

* * *

The Rabbit Hole was a little racier than Granny's, racy for Storybrooke anyway, Emma thought. Ruby put her and Mary Margaret up to this. They'd insisted she come with them for another girls' night since she'd missed the Valentine's Day one...and then they'd insisted on a few drinks...and then Ruby insisted the two of them flip through the pages and pages of good songs to sing while buzzed for karaoke.

They had flipped through and narrowed down their choices and were now finally up next. From the corner of her eye, Emma had noticed Mary Margaret tended to silently mouth the words when reading to herself, just like she did. Henry would have a field day with that, she thought. Another similarity for his mental files.

Giving each other a nervous, tipsy smile, they climb the three steps to the stage, the lights brighter than she assumed they'd be. Squinting past the blinding spotlights, she could see only the blurry shadows of the people at the tables. Not even the bar was visible to her. Gaping, her head snapped, wide-eyed, when Mary Margaret's hand patted her shoulder and nodded at her. The first disjointed notes of the intro played. Here we go, she said to herself.

_She's got a smile it seems to me_

_Reminds me of childhood memories_

_Where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky_

_Now and then when I see her face_

_She takes me away to that special place_

_And if I stare too long_

_I'd probably break down and cry_

_Oh, oh, oh_

_Sweet child o'mine_

Beads of sweat kissed her hairline. Bending her knees and swaying just a little, she mirrored Mary Margaret's movements. Laughing

The lights adjusted, allowing her to see Ruby's large grin, gleaming white teeth. And farther back, no, yes, that's David. He's got to be getting a kick out of this, Emma thought with a split second eye roll. But he waved. Not just to Mary Margaret, but to her, too. She and Mary Margaret grinned at each other, sharing the "what am I doing here" look. The respectable top-button school teacher and the sheriff, buzzed and trying so hard to loosen up.

Then, for a moment, Emma felt everything in front of her in slow motion, muted. She had a friend, a child, and this whole town full of people she was having to get to know. Not usually one for more retrospection than required, she realized she had let herself be eased into caring, being a part of something. Family, in its own way. Maybe it wouldn't be much for anyone else, but for Emma Swan, it was quite the achievement to say to herself, "I am happy."


	7. Belle

**A/N: Takes place during 2x2. This is based partly on the facebook thing where you click on the items and it reveals letters the characters have written to each other. I haven't played it, but if you find and click on the chipped cup, you get a detailed and fuzzy letter to Belle about how things in the kitchen operate.**

* * *

He'd left a note. Belle giggled, then savored the sound of her own laugh, before slipping into a robe and deciding to explore this "house," although it didn't look like any house she'd ever been in.

Just the ability to recall memories of houses she'd been in, and ones she'd never been in like this one, thrilled her. Natural light poured in through the windows in the hallway, smaller than the main corridor at the Dark Castle, but just as decadent, she thought, taking in each painting. Landscapes and still lifes, no portraits.

The stairs creaked the way she liked for stairs to, and soon she came upon the kitchen, tiled and softened with houseplants and stained glass. Stainless...tin? Was that the metal? There was no need to check the note since she'd already memorized it. Plums sounded so good. All right, she thought, staring at the man-sized metal door in front of her. Rumple did say it would be cold on the other side. Oh come on, you silly thing, she laughed at herself. It holds food, not dragons.

The bowl of plums chilled her palms. Setting it on the counter, she took a second to rub her hand over the counter top, so smooth and clean. She wondered if he had been a decent housekeeper all along or had developed those skills over time, the time between her leaving the castle and now. Shaking her head, she checked the note. Toast. _This box is a toaster. It has, accordingly, made you toast. DO NOT put your hands inside the slits in attempt to pull the bread out before it has reemerged. It is VERY HOT inside the toaster. You WILL burn yourself._

This had been the part she wasn't so sure about. After pushing down the lever, Belle passed the time by reading the last part, that he'd be disappointed if she didn't call. That he loved her and couldn't wait to tell her. It was all she'd ever wanted to hear him say.

* * *

"Hello?"

"It, it's me," she shouted into the receiver, covering her mouth immediately afterwards. "Sorry, that was loud."

Soft laughter answered. "You're doing all right?"

"It's...I didn't burn myself."

"Did you see the bookshelf?"

"Yes, I did." Not one of the titles had been a book she'd heard of, the unfamiliarity of this world becoming more and more exciting. "Thank you for the instructions."

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I..." There was the sound of him swallowing. "I've received some bad news today."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Can I help with anything?" She wanted to ask so many things. Sleep had refused to come last night—her fear that it was all a dream and she'd wake up in a cell in the dark resulted in requesting Rumpelstiltskin to hold her tighter and tighter. But she had worried for him, too. His answer for bringing back magic sounded incomplete.

"No...look, we should probably have a doctor look at you. After all that time. I'm sure Dr. W..no, someone there can make sure you're fine." There was a pause. "You are the only good thing about today."

"I don't want a doctor, Rumple. I've been around more than my share of doctors."

"Of course," he said after a while. "Sorry."

"I think we should go out together. Somewhere with lots of trees but you can still see the sky, or a beach maybe, by the ocean? I know it's vague, just, open space."

"We can walk wherever you want." The change in his tone might as well have been music. There was more life in it, she noted. "We can go along the park. It has some trails near the woods, and then we can walk down by the harbor and then up and down the streets. Wherever you want." She could feel his smile and, sure he could feel hers, she sighed into the phone.

"So you're not upset now, since I called you?" she asked in a coy voice.

"Belle, it is the best five minutes I've spent today. Hey, I have to go, but I'll be on my way home, so I will see you very soon. Once we say bye all you have to do is put the receiver back onto the rest of the phone."

"Wait!" she cried. "I had one more thing to say. I, I..." she gulped, laughing at what she'd pieced together. "I promise you, I will learn this world. I promise I will find my place in it so we'll be able to help each other and love each other properly."

For a full minute, there was nothing on the other end, leaving Belle to wonder if she should put the receiver down without the "bye."

"Belle." His voice breaking the silence made her jump. "I'm the one who has to learn to love you properly. Now I promise you, I will try."


	8. Baelfire

"Papa!"

Baelfire's eyes snapped open, his pillow clammy with sweat. The nursery's cool air and stiff sheets sent a tremor down his spine. He counted the stars contained in the center window. Over the years, he counted things to calm his nerves. It had started with just adopting the practice of being aware of one's surroundings, key to survival in any land, but he counted when he was bored, angry, and when he was frightened. Frightened—swirling green light, a dagger, everything so loud he could barely hear his own voice, the utter terror on his father's face the last thing he saw before plummeting into the void—frightened was an understatement.

Exhaling, he closed his eyes and tried to fall back asleep, grateful the other three in the room didn't stir.

Michael murmured occasionally in his sleep, random incoherent things that were nevertheless pleasant. More often than not, it took Bae several minutes to fall asleep, and it always brought a smile to his face to hear the little voice on the other side of the room blurt "picnics" or "Teddy" out into the silence.

"Bae?"

Oh gods...god, he had cried out loud enough for Wendy to hear. Instead of questions, he heard footsteps, followed by a brush of a kiss on the back of his head. Then he could sense her returning to her bed.

He'd talked about his childhood a little, in vague terms. John took notes, which, at first, made Bae wonder how sane the boy was, but had quickly come to find it endearing. He and Michael were at the age where they couldn't stop asking questions, but Wendy never did, never pressed him for more than he was willing to give. Some souls are like that. Had he been someone without secrets, it would have been a good time to speak to his new sister, remind her how lucky she was to be part of a loving family.

But he was a person with secrets, more than a fourteen-year-old's share. Hmm, fourteen in a new land, he thought. Wendy was twelve. John eight and Michael only three. They had all the time in the world to know each other as siblings should, plenty of time to share their secrets.


	9. Rumpelstiltskin

The sun was setting. Rays poured through the cracks in the side of the house, more in need of attention than ever, leaving Rumpelstiltskin wondering if he could count the dust particles floating in the light, as if ordained by the gods. It took his mind off the searing pain of Bae's weight on his good leg. The story, bound in a thick yellowed book, was just one of ten folktales wastrels who fancied themselves authors collected from the peasants and then passed off as their own. In fact, Rumple recalled his own mother telling him these stories without the need of a book, or without the authors' need to water down some of the more gruesome details.

"'And they lived happily ever after,'" he read, feeling Bae's tensed body finally relax. He preferred the stories with the happy endings and his knuckles stayed pure white all the way until the story confirmed said happy ending.

"Papa?" Only eight years old and the boy already knew just how much power he could wield with his huge maple syrup eyes; no puppy could display them better. He looked down at him and pushed his brown mop of hair back. "Is this our happily ever after?"

"Well..." He closed the book. The rays faded away, the crackling fire now the only light source in their cottage. It smelled of straw and onions and pine. "Happily ever after doesn't mean the end. It means, well, it means another story. Is this your happily ever after?" Bae nodded, but then his face fell. He followed the grains in the wooden floor with his toes.

"I just wish Mama was here, too. Papa, will you ever marry again?"

"Oh, I don't know, Bae. A wicked stepmother? Don't want to get mixed up in that, do we?" he laughed, but his son had always been the more serious, more sensitive one.

"Strictly speaking, she wouldn't be your stepmother. She'd be mine," he said. "I'm sure there are nice ones."

"I'm sure."

"She'll be really pretty," he yawned, hopping off of him. Rumple winced when he knocked his knee. Leaping onto the bed, he ran back and snatched the book. Clamoring back into bed, he opened it back up to the illustration at the end of the book, a wedding. "We have more books than anyone in the village, don't we?"

Yes, son, all six of them.

"Think that'll impress her then?" he asked, smiling. They really should have sold at least half those books at various times and yet he couldn't bear to take them from Bae.

"Just promise that when you have both of us-"

"Bae-"

"Just promise that we'll all stay together, that nothing will drive us apart."

Rumple sighed and placed his hand on his son's shoulder. He looked him in the eye, man to man.

"I wouldn't trade you for anything, Bae, absolutely anything."


	10. Henry

Henry can't believe his luck. The bus ride was worth it. He's not only at her door; it's a door covered in cursive script with words like "spell" and "mesmerize" and "transport." The numbers look like call numbers in a library, but now is not the time to examine them. He has to control his heartbeat because he is not the only one who needs to meet her. Get a grip, Henry, he thinks. You're a herald, the person who ropes the hero into the story. Heralds can't freak out. He knocks.

Mom. He thinks it, doesn't say it. She's young and beautiful and alone. She makes the same confused face he does...and then a terrified one once he tells her who he is. She rushes into another room in the apartment, so, since he's a little scared, too, he can imagine all the freaking out that's going on in what's probably her bathroom. Good thing he's read all about this. This is called Refusing the Call, something a lot of heroes before her have done. Wanting to burst into tears and rush into her arms, he breathes. You have to be the grown-up here, he tells himself.

After rummaging through her refrigerator, he settles on some juice and waits for her. Strange that it's her birthday and she's all by herself.

She comes out and is all over the place, finally marching to the phone. Crap. Quickly, he threatens to tell the cops she kidnapped him. That puts and end to that, he thinks. But she's not dumb. She has a superpower, she says. Somehow, that makes sense. A princess should have powers, and he can see how telling when someone is lying would be a good one.

"Wait. Please don't call the cops. Please come home with me."

Come home with me and be my mother. He loves her already.

"Where's home?"

"Storybrooke, Maine."

"Storybrooke? Seriously?" Disbelief is on her face and...mild panic? He can tell she's brave. Bravery is when you're afraid but you do what has to be done anyway. She will be such a great hero. "Alrighty then, let's get you back to Storybrooke."

Henry smiles. He busied himself on the bus thinking about how he would break the news to her, that everyone is trapped and an evil curse prevents all of them from being a family. But he's found her in spite of that. That thought makes him feel as if he's grown several years in a matter of seconds. Family always finds each other.

* * *

**A/N: And here we are, the last chapter. The door to Emma's apartment in the pilot has seemingly random words and numbers on it. You can look it up or re-watch it. The writers claim no significance and that it was actually a coincidence it had words like "spell" on it, but, an observant fan noted that the numbers could apply to the Aarne-Thompson Fairy Tale Classification System. If you look that up and match the numbers, they all apply to OUAT in different ways. Pretty interesting. Big thanks to everyone who has read and especially to those who have left a review. They have been much appreciated.**


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